


Am I too late for forgiveness?

by 1000lux



Category: Dorian Gray (movie 2009)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Second Chances, the picture of dorian gray - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the way I felt the movie should have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Am I too late for forgiveness?

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction, I own neither rights to the characters nor to the story, neither book nor film.
> 
> I thought the ending of the movie royally sucked. I know it always ends with his death, but I had expected for them to be a little more creative.  
> I think the movie was transporting the wrong message. Like, you've made a mistake and there's no way for you to ever make it up. You just have to wallow in your misery and then die.  
> I think there should be always hope at an ending.
> 
> **************************************  
> 

"Please give me the key, Dorian.", Emily was distressed.  
"We have to leave! Come with me.", Henry tried to pull her away. Still gas was leaking constantly.  
"No!", Emily pulled herself out of Henry's grasp. Before Dorian could stop her, she had reached  
through the bars and ripped the ribbon with the key on it off his throat. Frantically she opened the  
door and pulled him out, holding his hand in an iron grasp.  
They barely made it out before the gas exploded.  
When the smoke settled, Dorian realised that the was still alive. The screams he waited for when  
Emily looked at him never came. He hadn't changed.  
When they went into the ruins of his house together a few days later, they found the remains  
of the former attic. In midst of all the burnt wood lay the picture. The frame was burnt to coals.  
Yet, the picture was as it always had been. His soul looking up at him, snarling.  
This really was a pact with the devil.  
He looked at Emily pleadingly. She looked at him aghast, paling considerably.  
"This is what you were afraid of showing me.", she pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes wide  
with shock.  
"This is me, this is all I've done. Years and years of sin. I have nothing to say in my defense."  
"Yet, you wanted to change."  
"Yes.", he smiled sadly.  
"I think we've all done bad things. Only most people, don't have to face their souls until they die.",  
she said pensive.  
"Not as bad things as I've done."  
"You think so. I say lets make an exposition of all the souls of those fine people at the dinner parties.  
And we'll find none that anyone would want to look at."  
"I would look at yours."  
"As I would look onto yours", she said, looking at his picture with ostenation, "I'm a suffragette.  
It takes a lot more to scare me."

***********************

Eventually they went to New York together as they had planned. He let his house in London be  
rebuilt. Donating it for the purpose of housing single mothers.

The picture they had taken with them. Again it had it's own room in their mansion. He managed  
to convince Emily to talk to her father again, after some time.  
Still, she wouldn't have him come visit.

The years passed and they had children, several. And though he didn't attend parties any longer  
and stayed away from the fine society, he felt more full-filled then he had for years.  
Emily had enough projects to keep him busy.  
Supporting women's rights, busying them both with new inventions and progress in general.

All the time he tried to make up for the things he'd done. Donating money for the poor. Starting  
a fund for the legal support of those imprisoned, who couldn't afford lawyer. Helping in soup-kitchens.  
He and Emily also adopted several orphans from the street.

One morning when he looked into the mirror, he discovered a wrinkle on his forehead. He couldn't  
stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Eventually he convinced Emily, after ten years had passed, to go back to London for a visit to her  
father, who was by now too sick, to come and visit them.

"You see, Henry. I've changed after all."

***************************

He had aged together with his wife. They were both around sixty now. Their youngest biological  
son Quentin, was twenty now, and looked at lot like him at that time. Their older children both  
biological and adopted had already children of their own. The entire house was always filled  
with laughter. The room containing the picture had been locked for years.

His grandson Nicklas came running towards him. Eyes huge with wonder.  
"He looks like uncle Quentin."  
"Who does?", he asked Nicklas, puzzled.  
Nicklas him pulled off with him. Only on their way he saw the key to the room in Nicklas' hand. The  
caution they had shown, to hide it, in the beginning had lessened over the years.  
They had just forgotten it in that room. Not bothering with it any longer. Just living their live. Which  
was full of wonder every day.

When he walked into the room with his grandson. His eyes fell onto his eyes. And he looked onto  
his face as it had been over sixty years ago.


End file.
